


Here to Stay

by MoonySmith



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, POV Sherlock Holmes, References to Depression, Sherlock hates having emotions, and not understanding things, or kinda?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 19:37:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19979422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonySmith/pseuds/MoonySmith
Summary: Lestrade's not answering the phone and Sherlock gets worried.





	Here to Stay

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for any grammar mistake!

Sherlock had woken up a few minutes ago, he was sitting in his chair in front of Mrs Hudson, who had brought his tea with some biscuits from the day before and now was telling him without even pausing a story about one of their neighbours. Sherlock had stopped listening to her as soon as she started, of course, now he was with all his attention on the news he was reading on the phone. 

He frowned and shook his head when he reread the headline of a crime against a woman committed not far from the Scotland Yard building. As expected, they had erred in the results and by going behind the wrong person, they would end up leaving a murderer free in the streets. 

The disappointment and irritability inside Sherlock only increased when he saw the name of who was in charge of the investigation.

He opened a new text message and wrote: 

_As always, you're wrong. Look for the sister-in-law's husband instead_. –SH 

He pressed _send_ and sighed. He didn't understand why Lestrade took so long to consult him in his cases. With his new rank, he should pay more attention to the tracks in front of him. 

But the minutes passed and he received no response. 

"Mrs Hudson," he suddenly interrupted the woman who incredibly continued speaking, "Did Lestrade come at some point while I was sleeping?"

This is why he hates to sleep.

"The inspector?" she asked. He didn't answer when she raised her eyebrows. "No, he hasn't come for days now, has he?"

There was something in the tone in which she had spoken, that Sherlock didn't fully understand, but ignored it for the moment.

"Things are going well between you two, isn't it?" she asked now, the tone was definitely suspicious, and in response, Sherlock simply offered her a mock smile and stood up, setting the phone aside, to go to change his clothes in his room.

The unanswered minutes turned into hours; by noon, Sherlock had already sent him a few more messages about the case and what he had discovered when he reread the news, but Lestrade remained silent. 

Had something happened with Lestrade that he didn't remember? 

He ended up rereading the previous exchange of messages with the Inspector, but he didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. And it was well known that Sherlock might tend to ignore obvious details for the rest of the people when he socialized, and although it wasn't like that with Lestrade, he reread the messages in search of something he had missed.

They had spoken two days ago, well, he supposed that wouldn't be common for a couple, but most likely Lestrade had started investigating this case that same night. He tried to calm down when he remembered that the man should simply be focused on his work —erroneously, but perhaps he would soon notice the thread of messages waiting for him.

He had sent a couple more messages regarding the case, after lunch. He had even chosen to ask him if something had happened and that was why he didn't reply. For Sherlock, at this point, a simple replica with monosyllables would be enough to make sure he wasn't upset or something else has happened. 

John had arrived shortly after. Apparently, they should see something about the wedding organization. The suit, maybe? Sherlock didn't remember it, because after so many hours of waiting, it was when it really hit him and he started to worry about Lestrade. It wasn't only about the case now, it wasn't only about being worry that he may be mad at him, for some unknown reason. It was much more than that.

He tried to follow what John showed or told him, but his mind was already in possible cases of what would have happened to the other man and it didn't feel right at all.

"Have you spoken to Lestrade lately?" he finally asked when he looked up from his phone and saw that John was holding a wedding magazine in his direction. "That one." He pointed with disinterest at one of the suits he was showing him. 

John lowered his head and seeing the option he had given him, grimacing. Of course Sherlock had good taste, why would he even hesitate? 

"Lestrade?" John lowered the magazine back to the desk and scratched the back of his neck, "No. I think the last time I saw him was last week?"

That didn't work. Sherlock had seen him after that. 

In despair, Sherlock dialled Lestrade's number. John was staring at him with a frown, but he ignored him, groaning when he didn't answer and he had been sent to the voicemail.

"What happened? Someone didn't answer the phone to the great Sherlock Holmes?" asked John, mockingly, as he saw through the magazine again. Oh, John was in such a great mood, wasn't he? Sherlock rolled his eyes when he called again and the man didn't answer him. 

He moved his feet impatiently, he didn't like this feeling. It was simply inevitable to think of the worst cases. Lestrade always answered the phone, _always._ And it had been many hours since the first message, this wasn't normal. Something definitely has happened.

He turned the mobile phone a couple of times between his hands before sitting up, determined to call someone else who might have answers. He felt like an idiot for not thinking about it before. 

"Donovan," the woman replied immediately on the other side of the line, "who is it?" 

"Is Lestrade there?"

" _Freak?_ "The name didn't offend Sherlock since many years ago he had become accustomed to being named that way by the Sergeant. "No, he took the day off... did something happen?"

"He isn't answering the phone or my texts." Sherlock hated how desperate he sounded, but he knew deep down that maybe Donovan would understand. 

"Did you have a fight? Didn't you do something that could...?"

"No," he interrupted, "I assumed that he would be busy with the case of that woman and his lost child."

"Well, _we are_ ," the woman said wearily, "I'll try to call him and let you know if I know anything, okay? I'll expect the same from you."

"Fine."

At the end of the call, Sherlock stood up and hurried to his room in search of the key he kept inside the drawer of the bedside table. He went back to the living room where John looked at him curiously and then he took his coat.

"I'm sorry, John," he said, when he tied the scarf around his neck, "I think we will have to leave the election of the suit for another day. I must go."

"At Greg's?" asked the doctor, standing now beside him. 

"Who?" Sherlock finished putting on his coat and, offering him one last smile before leaving. 

On his trip in the cab, he sympathized with Donovan and her team and ended up sending her the same information he had sent hours ago to the DCI, earning many thanks messages from the woman.

He was so nervous and anxious. He was desperate not knowing what was happening, and couldn't help but picture the bad scenarios he imagined inside his head as he looked out the street through the window. It was moments like these when he really missed some substance that made him ignore all those stupid human emotions or sensations. He didn't want them.

He hurried as much as he could when the cab stopped and almost ran to the door of Lestrade's house. He knocked a couple of times and only went into despair when there was no response or sound from the other side. 

His stomach ached more than ever as he was worried. Repeating again and again in his head that everything would be fine, that there would be a completely sensible explanation for this whole situation.

He took the key from his pocket, the one he knew he would only need in times of emergency because he usually visited Lestrade's house when he knew he was there or when they went together after a case, or during it. It was always with him.

He was not completely surprised when he noticed all the curtains were closed on the windows when he opened the door. He closed it behind him, and walked around, looking for more clues. 

"Lestrade? he called as he walked through the kitchen. There was no sign that the man had eaten anything in the last hours, probably since yesterday or perhaps the day before. "Lestrade?"

"Bedroom," said that distinctive voice and it felt like he could finally breathe. 

He sighed and ran a hand over his face, walking straight to where he was supposed to find the man who got him deadly worried this day.

Nor was he surprised to find the curtains of the window in this room all closed too. Although he was still able to see normally. Lestrade was lying in a fetal position on the edge of his bed still wearing pyjamas. 

"Hello," Sherlock murmured nervously. Was it part of whatever it was the agreement they had, to stay with him when he was in such state? He didn't know. "You weren't answering your phone," he stated the obvious.

Lestrade sighed and turned to the other side of the bed offering him his back. 

"I'm sorry," he replied, settling on the other edge of the mattress. His voice didn't indicate that he wanted him to leave, he noticed.

Sherlock hesitated for a moment, but perhaps that would mean he was permitting him to lie beside him. Would that be what he needed? Because either way, it was what he wanted to do.

They were completely silent after Sherlock had put an arm over Lestrade's waist, and he said nothing but took his hand and held it to his chest instead. 

Sherlock's body relaxed when he was that way with Lestrade. All the stress that had happened during those hours, wondering if he... if he would have done something, it was horrible. He closed his eyes tightly and tried not to think again. 

"I want to help you," Sherlock whispered in his ear after a while. 

Lestrade released his hand and turned on his back, looking him in the eyes. 

"I know."

Sherlock leaned on his elbow and Lestrade suddenly took his other hand, using the tender moment to play with it, entwining his fingers or joining only their palms flat against each others. And Sherlock couldn't help the desperate need he felt when he leaned over him to press his lips together, just what he needed for now. 

"I got worried," he confessed. 

"Sorry." Lestrade brought his hand to his mouth and kissed his knuckles softly. "I guess I needed some time... " 

"Doing what?" Sherlock asked sharply and regretted enormously when he saw that Lestrade had flinched slightly. "Sorry..."

But then he smiled and played again with their hands. 

"I know you're trying," he murmured softly.

"I almost panicked in front of John when you didn't pick up the phone the first time," he confessed suddenly, not even knowing where the hell did that come from. "I was afraid—no, scared, Lestrade."

"I'm really sorry, Sherlock," Lestrade growled and released his hand to bring it to his face, covering it with both now. "I hate this too. I feel like an idiot. Everything is fine and then suddenly..."

"When is your next appointment with your therapist?" Sherlock interrupted, seeing how much he struggled to express what was he was feeling. 

"Tomorrow," he said, lowering his hands from his face to let them rest on his chest. "I asked for it urgently today."

"That's good, _Greg,_ " he assured him. He was aware he wasn't feeling all right, so it was a big step, Sherlock thought. "You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to, you know that."

"Yeah, but still." He turned again to his side. "It was about the mother's homicide... Sherlock, I really don't want this to affect me that way." 

"Sorry to hear that." Sherlock now put a hand on his shoulder and stroked there gently. 

"And I hate to think that if I go tomorrow, she will give me more medicine..." 

"But if that's what you need... it will be for a while. You know that."

"Yes... but I hate it. Being so dependent on..."

"Don't think like that." He leaned down to kiss his cheek. "Everything will be fine. And I'm here. Just... don't push me away again. I want to help you."

"Sorry."

"And stop apologizing, will you?"

Lestrade laughed at that and Sherlock had a strange sensation in his chest, maybe a happy one. He kissed his cheek once more. 

"Thank you," Lestrade murmured. 

"Is there anything you want?" he asked quickly, "Tea? Coffee? Chocolate, cake, ice cream, doughnuts...? 

He was about to continue naming how much food he could think about until the amusing laughter he heard from Lestrade's side, interrupted him. 

"Some chocolate wouldn't hurt, I guess," Lestrade replied with a shrug, and Sherlock nodded to himself, taking his hand off his arm and preparing to get out of there, but the other man stopped him. "It can wait, though."

"Okay," he announced, less confused than he'd normally be. But before getting back behind him, he took off his coat next to his scarf and threw everything into the chair Lestrade kept in a corner. Taking in a movement his phone from his jacket pocket. Lestrade turned his head to look at what he was doing with an expression of doubt. "I have to let Donovan know you're okay." 

Lestrade grunted again but said nothing. Sherlock also didn't wait for an answer from Donovan, leaving the phone next to Lestrade's on the night table next to the bed, he settled back behind the man, once again surrounding his waist with his arm. Lestrade took his hand again and, intertwining his fingers, brought the hands to his chest, staying like that quietly.

While Sherlock listened to Greg's soft breathing, he thought about how much he hated this whole situation. He hated it itself not understanding things, but not understanding what was happening inside Lestrade's brain while he was suffering one of these lapses was unbearable. He hated not understanding how all this works for him, how he felt. But deep down he knows and assures himself that he will stay by his side as long as he would let him support him. Even if he never understand what he feels. 

"I'm here to stay."

Later that day, Sherlock would get up and go shopping for what he thought would please Lestrade. And maybe later, in the privacy of his bedroom, he would investigate on his own how to manage a relationship if your partner sufferers from depression and are also suicidal. That would do later, he assured himself. For now, all he enjoyed was listening to the relaxing sound of Lestrade's breathing while he slept.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you found any mistake, please let me know.  
> I didn't add this to a series because I thought it works fine on its own, but if you want to, you can read [Be Still](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17938238) for a bit of background.  
> Or, if you're happy or if it was too hopefully, you can read [I Should Have Known](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18346703).  
> And, if you want to come here and take the hc that Greg's depressed out of my head, you'll be making me a huge favor.


End file.
